With the Wind
by Syrinx
Summary: Logan comes home, and Ororo is the there to greet him. I'm back! *10*
1. the smell of ozone

Title: With the Wind  
Rating: PG-13 for maybe one swear word or something. I think I remember how these ratings work.  
Summary: Ororo. Logan. Logan comes home after 8 months... My first X-Men fan fic, so be kind!  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the X-Men, the idea, or anything. There.   


Ororo Monroe laid in her queen size bed, rolling round in the white cotton sheets, trying to find some relief from the loud music flooding through the ceiling, into her room. Maybe if she somehow found a way to cover her head with her pillow hard enough so she couldn't hear the loud bass - and still breathe. 

"This has to stop," Ororo finally muttered to herself, sitting up in bed and staring at the ceiling. She threw the covers back and slid off the mattress, grabbing her dark blue robe and pulling it on over her as she went. She'd have to quiet the party upstairs before Scott woke up and blew a fuse, which he had already done once or twice this summer when one of the kids held sleep overs, which Ororo herself had usually approved. 

Opening the door to her room, Ororo winced. The music was getting louder. She'd have to hurry before Rogue overdid it. Silently she padded down the hallway in bare feet, climbing up the main stair case to where most of the students lived, fellow mutants such as herself and Rogue. Ororo made her way quickly to Rogue's door and knocked softly, chuckling to herself as she heard a sudden shriek by one of the girls and an immediate muting of the music. The door opened slowly.

"Rogue?" Ororo called softly, looking down at the smaller girl, white streaked brown hair pulled into a ponytail. 

"Hi, Ms. Monroe," Rogue said quietly, instantly becoming shy when she had probably just been screaming and jumping around the room moments earlier. 

"Rogue..." Ororo began, but the young woman cut her off.

"Ah'm so sorry," Rogue apologized. "Mr. Summers isn't up, is he?"

"No," Ororo said, smiling and shaking her head, knowing that if he was she wouldn't be the messenger. "I just want you to turn down the music a little. You know what happened the last time."

"Right," Rogue stated in her deep southern accent, pushing her long, white streaked brown hair from her face, revealing the worn dog tags she had hanging around her neck. "Ah never what that ta happen again."

"Okay," Ororo said, her eyes glancing down to the tags, remembering watching from afar as Logan gave them to the girl as a keepsake, or as a reason for him to come back. It had been eight months since Logan had left the mansion, heading to Canada, and that had been the last any one had heard of him. "Just remember that Mr. Summers might make something explode this time if he wakes up," Ororo added, dropping her voice to a secretive whisper, a smile hinting in her voice.

A grin spread across Rogue's face and she broke out into a fit of giggles. "Ah'll remember!"

"Goodnight, Rogue," Ororo said, letting the girl retreat back into her room, hushing the nervous laughter of her friends. 

"Okay," Ororo said to herself, shaking her head, trying to uncover where her weariness had gone. Stopping in the middle of the hallway, she searched for any tiny shred of fatigue and found none. Sighing, she remembered the untouched essays she still had to grade. Two in the morning was as fine a time as any, Ororo thought to herself, heading down stairs to her classroom, gathering the essays, then making her way into the early September weather with her pen and grade book at hand.

Ororo plopped down in the wicker chair, propping her bare feet on the table in front of her. The porch light shone brightly, casting a pool of flourescent light around the porch in a neat circle, shimmering off Ororo's snow white hair. 

Sighing, Ororo picked up her first essay, reading through it with quick efficiency, marking what was wrong with either fact or grammar, and putting checkmarks in the columns for bonus points. She made it through five essays before she became bored, finding her attention drifting away from the papers and settling on other thoughts.

Randomly, she thought of Logan's dog tags hanging around Rogue's neck, as though they were a collar claiming ownership. Rogue refused to part with them, and Ororo had caught her playing with them during class numerous times, her eyes fixed on them steadily. Everyone was beginning to wonder if Rogue had a secret fascination with Logan. When that man was concerned not many of the young girls at the institute would be happy with being treated like his kid sister. The man did reek mystery, something that a romantic like Rogue would find intriguing. Ororo couldn't blame the girl. After all, Logan had been a subject of her own fascination since he had left. 

Ororo could not figure out why Logan had been on her mind for the several past months. She had barely even talked to him when he was at the mansion, let alone stay in his presence long enough to generate interest. 

Perhaps that was why, Ororo thought to herself, pushing a few strands of unruly white hair out of her bright blue eyes. Or perhaps it was because seeing Scott and Jean in such a state of uncontrolled bliss was starting to get to her. 

The two had been engaged to be married for nearly three months now, and the wedding was scheduled for early October. The two were so happy Ororo was finding it hard to be glad for them much longer, especially since it was becoming clearer that finding love for herself was going to be a challenge she didn't think she could go through. Increasingly she wondered what people didn't see in her that they saw in Jean. Obviously the tall red head had plenty of it, what ever it was. It was clear Ororo Monroe, or at least to Ororo, that she lacked some spark, some essential element that other women had in abundance. It had been years since her last kiss.

Even Logan had been caught up in Jean, which did not surprise her, but Ororo liked to think that she had been noticed as well. She remembered vividly the moment when she was formally introduced to him. His gaze slowed on her, his dark eyes wandering over her form, pausing as he took in her blinding white hair and exotic blue eyes. It had felt like an eternity as the Professor talked, introducing her to this new, untamed man. Logan's eyes could've been burning, the way they made her feel then. But then Jean entered the room and everything changed. The intensity shifted and she was again left to watch from the sidelines.

Ororo sighed, shaking the thoughts from her head. It was useless to think of these things now, and especially in accordance with Logan, she chided herself. If and when he ever came back his first focus would be Rogue, and then his second would be Jean, even if the woman didn't want it. Why Ororo thought Logan was the answer to her problems she didn't know, and she never wanted to find out. It would be best that way. 

A swift wind picked up, breezing across the courtyard and ruffling the deep green leaves in the trees. Ororo lifted her head, surveying the change, sensing an incoming storm. She smiled and welcomed it, giddy with the knowledge that she could control that massive power coming her way, if only she wanted to. For today she would let nature take it's course. She would not meddle with what she did not need to. 

She stood up and collected her papers, turning to open the glass door. Just when her hand touched the doorknob her heart stopped in her chest, or more literally, it started to speed up.

Ororo spun around, listening to the wind as it picked up speed, whistling around the house, down the road next to it. She could hear a noise under the wind, less powerful but equally loud, coming closer to the house each second. 

In a flurry of motion, Ororo whipped open the door and deposited her papers on the table by the wall. Hurriedly, she left the house again, closing the door silently behind her and padding down the stone steps in her bare feet. Vaguely she realized that the soft thumping of the music in Rogue's room had stopped, and Ororo knew the children must have finally fallen asleep. 

She could hear it better now. The soft growling of a motor coming down the road, growing louder as it neared the house. Ororo walked down the side of the huge mansion, feeling the first few drops of rain splatter around her, on her arms and snow white hair. 

Then she saw. Through the tree-lined drive, there was a motorcycle gunning its way to the mansion, the figure of a dark haired man atop it, controlling the bike easily. Ororo stared in shock, realizing what was happening. The bike was surely Scott's, the precise one Logan had stolen months ago. No other could move that fast.

Ororo stopped walking, instead content to watch the bike slow as it reached the driveway for the garage. She pressed one hand against the brick of the building, pulling her blue robe closer to her as the wind picked up again, tangling in her hair. 

On the other side of the wall, the garage door began to open quietly, a low whir betraying it's movement. Ororo slid closer, watching the motorcycle climb up the drive way, making it's way into the garage. There was no question about who this was. Ororo didn't even have to speculate. She didn't have to since she first heard the storm. She just knew.

Ororo closed her eyes and hesitantly took a step forward, rounding the corner and opening her eyes, watching the dark figure get off the bike, pausing with his back turned to her.

"Hey, 'Ro," he mumbled silently, turning halfway to glance at her over his shoulder. 

Ororo stared at him, taking a small step into the garage, avoiding an oil spot. "Logan," she said cordially, her eyes holding him to her warmly. "You're soaked," she commented, noticing the dripping water coming off his leather jacket and wild dark hair. 

"Thanks for noticing," Logan smirked, turning around to look at her fully, letting his eyes graze over her form fitting sleek robe. 

Ororo gave him a small smile and stood awkwardly in the garage, unsure of what to say next. 

"So, no welcome party?" Logan asked gruffly, throwing his duffel bag over his shoulder and beginning to walk to the door. Ororo followed him quickly, walking into the house after him.

"Well, it is after two in the morning," Ororo said reasonably. 

Logan chuckled to himself, running a dirty hand through his dark hair, flicking rain drops everywhere. "Thought Jean and her abilities might have picked me up earlier."

Ororo frowned. Already mention of Jean, she thought with hidden annoyance. She knew that this would happen. 

"Why are you up?" He asked, shedding his soaked leather coat and throwing it on the back of a chair as they entered the kitchen. 

"Rogue had a little slumber party and the music was a bit loud," Ororo explained delicately, watching Logan open the fridge, finding a beer in the back and twisting the top off. 

"Huh," Logan nodded, bringing the beer to his mouth and gulping thirstily. 

"Aren't you going to ask about her?" Ororo asked, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching Logan quietly, her fascination rising to a new level.

"She's okay, ain't she?" Came the gruff reply.

"Of course," Ororo answered, stepping out of his way as he brushed past. She didn't have to be able to read minds to tell that something was wrong. Logan had been rough before but now he just looked tortured.

"May I ask what happened?" Ororo said, watching Logan shake the water out of his hair. "Rather you wouldn't," Logan answered, turning to lean on the kitchen table, frowning at the beer. "What is this shit?"

"It's some of Scott's," Ororo replied, walking over and snatching the beer from him, checking the brand name just to be sure. 

Logan shook his head and laughed quietly. "Ole' One Eye," he muttered. "Figures."

Ororo handed the beer back and retreated to her side of the table, putting her hands on her hips and watching the man. Perhaps she should start counting down to when she had to tell him Scott and Jean were to be married in October. She was tiring of small talk.

"Logan," she began, but he cut her off easily, ripping through her with his dark eyes. 

"I just don't wanna talk about it, Storm." Logan growled, using her code name. "Get off it, would you?" 

Ororo stood still, looking at Logan with surprise. 

"I see," she said, walking to the door, making up her mind. "Well, your room is clean. Jean has made sure that it's in prime condition for your habitation when you finally returned to us," Ororo said, pausing at the door. "You may want to talk to the Professor first thing tomorrow," she added. "You can tell him your sob story then."

"'Ro," Logan began, sighing and roughly running a hand through his hair. 

"Good night, Logan." It's was Ororo's turn to cut him off, secretly happy that she at least had that power. "Welcome back."

With that she pushed through the kitchen door and made her way down the hall, making sure to pick up the essays she had dumped on the table in her haste to see if the wind had truly brought Logan home. Ororo stalked up the stairs to her room, pushing the door open and closing it quietly behind her. Silently, she sat on the bed, crossing her legs Indian-style and began to read the next essay, frowning through the entire thing. Finally, she tossed it down, unable to concentrate. 

Goddess, she was such a fool. Things would only be worse now with Logan back, and she didn't know if she could handle that. It would just be another thing to force her back into the woodwork. Ororo sighed and watched as the clouds racing up on the mansion broke, letting loose a torrent of late summer rain. 

"Yes," Ororo said, scenting the startling smell of ozone. "Let it rain."


	2. reflections off glass

  


"Jesus," Logan muttered as soon as he woke up. Sun was blaring through the windows, flooding through the room and scorching his bed. He distinctly remembered shutting those curtains before he fell asleep last night. "What the hell, 'Ro?" 

Before him, Ororo was methodically pushing the curtains aside. He could see her reflection off the glass, and she was smiling smugly into the light that poured inside the dark bedroom. "I always thought of you as a morning person," she said without turning around, her voice short. 

"Well," Logan groaned, settling more comfortably in the bed just to spite her. "I ain't after I've driven down from Canada in one day. And through a hell of a storm also. Screw any healing factor." 

Ororo turned around and stared down at him, glaring as he crossed his arms behind his head. Sighing, she said in a clipped voice, "The Professor wants to meet with you. I was sent to get your tired hide out of bed. Now up!" 

"So Chuck wants to talk to me?" Logan asked wistfully. "I'm surprised he sent you instead of just messing with my mind again. The last time that happened it was pretty effective." 

Ororo rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest in annoyance. "Fine, Logan, you can lay around in bed all day." 

"Maybe I will," Logan smiled back, finding that he had missed acting like the pain in the ass he knew Ororo thought he was. 

"And you can just wait to find out about everything that's happened while you were away," Ororo added, stalking past the rumpled bed, heading toward the door. 

"I can live with that," Logan replied stubbornly, a smile of victory on his face. 

"And you can wait to find out about Jean," she said, her hand on the knob. 

There was a silence and she turned halfway to glance back, smiling. But before she could he had her pressed to the door so hard she nearly had the wind knocked out of her. 

"What about Jean?" Logan asked, his voice nearing a feral growl. 

All Ororo could do was stare at Logan in shock, her blue eyes wide with fright. She would have to remember that he was practically half animal. In the time he had been away from the school she must have forgotten that. Forgotten his adamantium claws hidden in those hands. She stared at the fists pressing against her shoulders, her eyes flicking between his cutting eyes and those rough knuckles. She settled on staring him in the eyes. She remembered those claws. 

"Well, 'Ro? You gonna enlighten me?" Logan asked, holding her to the door steadily, not letting up the pressure he was applying to her shoulders, despite her obviously frightened scent. It was all over her, overpowering her natural smell, and the undertones of some flower he couldn't quite place. Ororo squared herself, giving him a loud and defiant look. "There's nothing that you're going to beat out of me, Logan," she spat out. "Let go of me." 

With that, she shoved him back and pulled open the door, glancing back to flick her eyes over his taunt body, frowning hard. Students paused in the hallway, jaws dropping open in disbelieve at the sight of a seething Logan standing just inside the room. 

"The professor is in his office," Ororo said diplomatically, knowing she had to deal with those gapping mouths. 

"As usual," Logan answered back, ignoring the kids and stretching his hands, before Ororo shut the door and set curious students scurrying back on their way.   


Fifteen minutes later, after a shower and a fresh change of clothes, Logan made his way down the hallway, glancing around him at the startled looks the students were giving him. Most of the girls giggled and formed little groups, whispering among themselves. The boys gave him looks of envy and some outright hostility. Logan couldn't help but smile to himself as he walked down to Xavier's office. Crushes and envy he could deal with. What he wanted to find out was what was going on with Jean. Ororo wouldn't have mentioned anything if it hadn't been big. 

When he got to Xavier's office door, he grabbed the knob. 

~Come in, Logan.~ 

Logan rolled his eyes at the professor's voice in his head and pushed the door open. "Don't mind if I do," he answered, looking across the spacious office at the bald man sitting behind the large desk before a wide window looking out on the courtyard. 

"Hello, Logan," Xavier said, sitting back and rolling his wheelchair from around the oak desk. 

"Hey," Logan replied gruffly, falling into a chair, looking at the professor eye to eye. 

"I trust your trip went well?" Xavier asked, coming to a stop in front of Logan. 

"I don't think you have to ask me that," Logan said, his tension growing, giving Xavier a sarcastic smile. "You know what happened." 

"Yes," Xavier replied, folding his hands. "I suppose I do. I'm sorry, Logan." 

"Story of my life," Logan growled, staring at the professor intently. "When I got up to the compound everything had been destroyed." 

"The buildings were still there," Xavier assumed, frowning now. 

"Yeah," Logan said. "But everything inside was burned to a crisp. What was there I'll never know now. If there were files they were moved, and the equipment was shipped out probably days before I got there. The tire tracks were still fresh." 

"And yet you stayed away for eight months," Xavier said, a frown of puzzlement on his face. "What stopped you from returning?" 

"Didn't wanna come back here so soon," Logan shrugged, becoming uncomfortable, shifting in the chair. "Plus I had a few more leads. I tracked a couple of trucks to different compounds, but nothing turned up." 

"Anything about mutant experimentation?" Xavier asked, putting his hands on the arms of his chair. 

"Nothing," Logan said. "Basically, I was led all over Canada for months on a wild goose chase. A complete waste of time." 

Xavier nodded and wheeled closer to Logan, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Things will start to turn up, Logan. They are being careful, but we will find where they are hiding, and what." 

Logan stared at the professor and finally nodded, sensing honestly in the other man's demeanor. "I'll have to go back up there eventually," Logan said, setting his mouth in a hard line. "I'll find what they're keeping from me." 

"Yes," Xavier nodded, "you will. But what about in the meantime, Logan?" 

"What?" Logan asked as Xavier went back around his desk. 

"What will you do between now and then?" 

Logan shrugged. "I came back here to see Rogue," he began. "Storm told me she's been pretty good for the past few months." 

"She's a blossoming flower, Logan," Xavier smiled. "But her mind has been quite distracted since your departure." 

Logan nodded, looking around him. "So I'm guessing you're wanting me to stick around. For her." 

"Only if you want to," Xavier said, raising a hand in defense. "But we did have a batch of suits made to fit you, since your last time out." 

Logan let a smile creep up his mouth, remembering the uniform he had worn on his first and last mission with the X-Men, a mission he had participated in solely to save Rogue. He had complained about the uniform being uncomfortable then, and apparently it had been noted. 

"You want me to become your next addition to the X-Men," Logan remarked dryly, crossing his arms and smiling at Xavier smugly. 

"You can take your time in deciding," Xavier responded, allowing himself a small smile as well. "We all know that you are too concerned with your undisclosed past to focus much on a committed relationship with the academy, and with the X-Men." 

Logan snorted. Committed relationships had never been his forte. 

"But right now," Xavier added. "I do know that Rogue is anxiously awaiting your arrival." 

"Where is she?" Logan asked, knowing that Xavier's telepathic abilities could pinpoint anyone in the building, knowing their thoughts and actions. 

"Storm's classroom," Xavier said, but before he could say much more, Logan was already out of his seat and striding toward the door. 

"I'll get back to ya on stickin' around," he called over his back, walking out the door and shutting it behind him.   
  


"The storming of the Bastille was the first outbreak of violence in the French Revolution," Ororo stated clearly, turning to her small chalk board in the corner of the improvised classroom. The mansion was never meant to be much of a school, so classrooms were far from perfect. The acoustics were poor because of the high ceilings and Ororo despised the flipping blackboards. But she put up with it as best she could, raising her voice several octaves to be heard. 

"That was July 14, 1789," she announced, writing the date on the board. She glanced behind her to quickly survey how many people were actually paying attention. Several of the students were engrossed with their notebooks, readily scribbling down doodles. Some of the boys were glossy eyed, watching her move around the classroom, their faces attuned to her body. 

Ororo knew it was just the beginning of the school year, and most of the children were still silently protesting the fact that they had to begin classes again. She remembered being the same when she had gone to the institute as a child, going to all the boring classes that never seemed to challenge her much. Only Xavier had challenged her, molding her into the mutant she was to become. She had enjoyed that. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Rogue playing with those cursed dog tags again, staring at them as though she expected to find something new written on the small slabs of metal that she hadn't read thousands of times before. Ororo abruptly spun around on her heel and quickly scribbled more facts on the board, glaring at the chalk as she did. How odd, she thought to herself, feeling the chalk's soft body slide in her fingers, crunching against the slate board. One day she found herself pining after a man she knew she couldn't have and the next she realized she wanted to severely hurt him. Mildly, she wondered what Jean was thinking right now. 

Only a soft knock stopped her from the flurry of scribbling, forcing her to look up, breaking the chalk as it fell from her hands and clattered against the hard wood floor. That got most of the children's attention. 

Ororo's eyes flew to the open doorway. She liked to keep the door open during normal class hours. She saw no reason to keep it shut, since there were never distractions in the mansion, and not enough children to roam the halls. Now she had found a reason keep her door closed. 

There, leaning against the door jam in his infuriatingly cool manner, stood Logan. Positioned just outside the classroom so no one else could see him save Ororo. 

Rogue finally looked up from her dog tags, directing her brilliant green eyes toward the door, but she couldn't see, so she stared back at Ororo. 

"One moment," Ororo said, leaning down to pick up the broken chalk and slammed it down on the desk, stalking toward the door. 

"You have impeccable timing," Ororo muttered as soon as she was out of the children's sights. "I always thought so," Logan said, moving into the room, brushing past Ororo and catching her scent, giving her a faint flash of white teeth. Ororo snorted and followed him inside the room. Logan glanced quickly at her and then turned around at the shriek of surprise that filled the room. 

"Oh my God," Rogue cried, jumping out of her seat and running to Logan, throwing her arms around his clothed torso, making sure she didn't touch his skin. "It's true. People said you were back but Ah didn't wanna believe it until Ah saw you." 

"Well, believe it, Kid," Logan said, pushing her back to get a good look at her. She looked much the same as she did when he had first found her, save the white streak in her brown hair. 

Around them, the class was going into chaos. Ororo sighed and walked up around Logan, raising up her hands. 

"Alright," she cried over the noise. "I suppose there isn't much more we can do today. I'll let you out early." 

The noise got louder as the kids celebrated, jumping out of their seats and sprinting for the door. Ororo laughed, shaking her head as her students brushed by her, some pausing to give her wild smiles and thanks you's. 

Ororo watched the rest of the kids cascade out of her room before turning to consider Rogue, who didn't seem to know where she was anymore. The young girl was solely focused on Logan, who seemed just as easy to be focused on her. 

"I see you were keeping them safe for me," Logan said, pointing out the shiny metallic chain. 

"Oh," Rogue smiled, glancing down at the dog tags, lifting them from her chest so he could see them. "Yeah. You can have them back if ya want." 

"Nah," Logan shook his head. "Consider them a gift." 

"Thanks," Rogue grinned, grabbing his arm possessively, glancing back at Ororo. "Ms. Monroe, do I have ta come to the other classes today?" 

Ororo looked up from rummaging through her desk, trying to find the papers she still had left to grade. Last night she had only succeeded in grading a few, and even now she knew she'd have to go back over them. Usually she never let her emotions run through into her grading, but she had a sneaking suspicion that this time was different. 

"Oh," Ororo frowned quietly, considering what she had to say. Usually she was as lenient as possible with the kids, but with Logan now involved she found it hard to give anyone any slack. "You know the rules, Rogue." 

"Ah know," Rogue sighed, giving Ororo one of her precious smiles. "But, we've got so much to catch up on." 

Ororo made up her mind, shaking her head firmly. "I'm sorry, Rogue. But you've got the next couple of hours to catch up with Logan. And he'll be around for..." Her voice faded off, glancing to look at Logan's darkening face. 

"I'll be around for a while, Kid," Logan stated for Ororo. "We've got all the time in the world." 

"Good," Rogue grinned. "Let's go then," she insisted, pulling on Logan's arm, dragging him out of the class. Ororo watched them go, Logan following Rogue out to the courtyard, leaving her to the papers. 

Ororo glanced down at the dreaded ungraded papers and fingered the painful bruise she knew was forming on her shoulder. She could not forget what Logan was. 

She set her red pen down and walked over to the large series of windows in her classroom, watching her kids enjoying the last remaining shreds of summer, sneaking a small glance at Rogue and Logan as the girl headed the way to her favorite bench on the edge of the mansion's property. 

Ororo noticed her own reflection in the glass and frowned at herself, narrowing her eyes. Rogue would tell Logan all about Jean and Scott, and after that she didn't want to speculate. Somehow she knew Logan was going to put up a fight, even if it would be subtle. She sighed deeply and turned back to the papers, shaking her head. Already she could feel her identity slipping away, dulling behind the vibrant colors of Jean. Almost silently, Ororo flipped through the papers and welcomed herself to the woodwork. 


	3. chili and beer

  


"I think that's enough chili powder," Jean warned, smiling as she walked up next to Ororo, who was vigorously shaking the soft red stuff into the pot. 

"Nonsense," Ororo laughed, pouring some more in, stirring constantly, watching the chili turn a deep red. "Just because it's your turn to cook doesn't mean that I can't give you pointers." "Sure," Jean shook her head, grabbing the powder bottle from Ororo with her telekinetic powers and spiriting it back into the cabinet. "But I still say when enough is enough." 

Ororo placed her hands on her hips and gave Jean a mock scowl, raising her white eyebrows menacingly. "Don't blame me when people complain." 

"I don't think anyone will be complaining," a deep voice answered her from the doorway. Ororo spun around and observed Logan, the scowl still etched onto her face. Although now she meant every bit of it. 

"You did put beer into it didn't you?" he asked, walking in to glance at the pot, giving Ororo a small glance before letting his eyes travel down Jean. 

"None of yours," Ororo bit back, spinning on her toe to stare into the chili, flicking her eyes back to see how Jean was holding up against Logan's blatant stare. To her surprise, she looked up to him staring directly at her, a bemused look on his face. 

"You got a thing against my beer, darlin'?" He asked, leaning against the counter next to her, his dark eyes steady on her face. 

"I don't drink beer," Ororo said, finding herself caught in his gaze, cursing herself silently for allowing it. She pulled her eyes away from his heated stare and dropped her head, soft pink creeping into her cheeks. The way he was looking at her now made her feel hot inside, like she could forget how he looked at Jean, like she could pretend that look was meant solely for her. 

Of course, she noted quietly, it lasted a full ten seconds before he diverted himself back to Jean. She didn't listen to what he had to say to her. Instead she pushed back from the counter and walked into the dining room, heading for the table where the stack of mail laid that she still had to sort through. Silently she flipped through the envelopes, picking out two bills for herself and tossing them in their own stack, reaching back to pull her silky white hair into a low pony tail. That's when she heard a sharp slap of a hand meeting hard flesh. 

Startled, Ororo jumped and looked into the kitchen, catching Jean marching out the door, leaving a very pleased Logan leaning against the counter, touching his face as though he treasured that slap. 

"What on earth happened?" She demanded, walking up to Logan, who gave her a feral smile. 

"Nothing much, 'Ro," he answered, brushing past her to open the fridge. She watched him grab a beer and twist off the cap, tossing the small piece of metal on the counter. 

"You ever feel like no matter what you do, it just ain't good enough?" Logan asked after a moment, taking a swig of the dark beer. 

"Yes," Ororo said quickly. "More than you may know." 

He regarded her quietly and nodded his head, taking another large gulp of the beer. 

Ororo watched him swallow the rest of the beer and open the fridge again, pulling out another. 

"Can I?" Ororo suddenly asked, watching him twist off the cap and toss it on the counter also. 

"Huh?" He asked, his hand pausing before the bottle reached his lips. 

"The beer," Ororo stated again, looking at him determinedly, not fully knowing what she was doing. 

"Huh," he grunted again, looked at the beer and thrust it to her. "If you want it so bad." 

"No," Ororo shook her head, opening the fridge and grabbing her own. With a tiny ounce of strength, she twisted the cap off and took a couple of gulps, Logan staring at her with a confused frown on his face. 

"Thanks," Ororo smiled, brushing past him and laughing secretly at his stunned expression. 

"Since when do you drink beer?" He called after her. 

"Since now," she called back, chuckling and turning around, smiling at him over the glass bottle, watching him shake his head, a grin spreading over his face, bearing his sharp white teeth. He laughed deeply and ran a hand through his dark hair, raising the bottle to his lips. 

"This looks wonderful, Jean," Charles Xavier praised his protege, watching Jean pull the chili off the stove, setting it on the table in front of Scott. 

"Looks great, Jean," Scott said, depositing a light kiss on her forehead as she sat down next to him. Ororo put her second beer next to her dinner plate and sat down next to Logan and Xavier, watching as Logan noticed her quietly. She smiled at him and took another drink, watching Jean serve up Xavier's bowl, sprinkling cheese and crushed tortilla chips over the meat. 

"You put the beer in there, right?" Logan asked, looking lingeringly at Jean, who gave him a sharp glare. 

"The alcohol burned away, Logan," she said tartly, serving Scott and then herself, pushing the pot over at Logan and Ororo. 

Ororo glanced discreetly around the table, her eyes finally meeting Xavier's, the older man watching the tension rise in the room with a small look of amusement. 

Ororo grabbed the spoon and served herself, waiting to see who would break the silence first. 

"I see the children are settling back into school life," Xavier said, directing his gaze to Ororo, a smile on his lips. 

"Actually I think they all resent me," Ororo smiled, still keeping her eyes peeled for any sign that either Scott or Logan was losing it. Scott was sitting on the edge of his seat, his eyes that were covered by those rose-colored glasses directed on Logan, who was leaning back in his chair, drinking his beer and monitoring Scott as though he were entertainment. 

Xavier laughed at Ororo's comment and nodded. "I see that in them also. They will settle down as soon as summer passes." 

"I'm sure," Scott agreed, finally tearing his firm glare away from Logan. Jean ate quietly, her hand visibly shaking. Ororo watched her nervously, feeling the buildup of strain in the room, watching as Logan finally set his beer down. Ororo looked down, focusing on her spoon, feeling the smooth silver in her hands. 

"So, when's the wedding?" 

Ororo's head shot up, her eyes settling on Scott's angrily set mouth. 

"What do you even care?" Scott shot at him, looking over at Jean. 

"It's just a question," Logan said, his lips set in a sardonic smile. "You can't answer it for me?" 

"It's October 8th," Jean said quietly, pushing her food around with the spoon in her hands. 

"Looking pretty hesitant, Jean," Logan said, and Ororo knew the trap had been set. Scott was going to walk straight into it. 

"What the hell?" Scott suddenly burst out, standing up so quickly his chair almost fell back. Jean righted it automatically, still sitting. "What right do you have sauntering in here and spouting off your unneeded opinions!" 

"Hey," Logan held up his hands in mock defense. "I'm entitled." 

"You're entitled to shit," Scott growled, pushing away from the table before Xavier had the chance to say anything. Jean abruptly stood also, following Scott out the door, Ororo knowing that she went in pursuit of the angry Cyclops. 

An uncomfortable silence settled over the dining room, leaving the remaining unsure of what to say. Instead of waiting around, Logan stood up also, a pleased smile on his face. 

"I'll see you guys around," he said gruffly, turning his back on Ororo and heading for the door. 

Ororo set her mouth in a firm line, watching Logan amble out of the dining room, most likely heading for the courtyard. He could be so infuriatingly cool and so hot tempered. Finally she just shook her head and sighed, resting her forehead in her palms. When she looked up, Xavier was staring straight at her. 

"This will work itself out," the Professor said soothingly. "It too will pass." 

"Yes," Ororo agreed, closing her eyes for a brief moment. "But when?" 

Xavier looked at her and smiled, reaching across the table to rest a hand on her shoulder. "That all rests with Logan, and with you also in a way." 

Before Ororo could ask much more, Xavier wheeled away from the dining table and into the kitchen, leaving Ororo sitting alone, staring at nothing. 

Later that night Ororo found herself prowling the halls, making sure all the children were in their rooms. She didn't particularly care if they were asleep, but it was a general rule that the students had to be in their rooms before ten. As she walked, opening doors a crack to take head counts, her mind stayed centered on Logan, wondering what he found in creating misery for Scott, and discomfort for Jean. She wondered why he couldn't give in, why it would be such a blow to his pride that he should cease this vain obsession. 

After doing a thorough check of the rooms in the mansion, she wandered down the staircase, silently in bare feet. The television was on in the rec room, the brilliantly colored lights flashing over the walls, over the pool table and the leather chairs. 

She walked quietly into the room, pausing when she saw Logan's arms draped over the back of the leather sofa, his head leaning back, feet propped up on the coffee table before him. He was watching some news program with his eyes closed, clearly not paying attention. 

"You can come in the room, 'Ro," Logan grumbled, refusing to open his eyes. 

Ororo rolled hers, knowing that was one thing Logan couldn't sense with his own eyes closed. She slid into the room, lowering herself into a chair, the same where she had discovered that Mystique was still alive, and impersonating people as well as before, watching the news intently as Logan had left. 

They sat together in silence, Ororo watching him like a deer caught in head lights, unsure of what she should say, how she should sound to him without strengthening his current opinion of her. She knew he thought she was all too stiff and proper, an image that seemed too strong for her to shake. 

"Logan," she began, watching him open his hot eyes. 

"Drop it, 'Ro," Logan growled, stretching out and turning his head, watching her carefully. He knew all to well that she wasn't going to drop anything. 

"You can't say that, Logan," Ororo tried again. "Not after that stunt you pulled at dinner." 

"'Ro," Logan sighed, but Ororo cut him off. 

"Scott has done nothing to deserve that, nor has Jean. They are engaged to be married, Logan." Ororo said insistently, looking at him with wide blue eyes. 

"Tell me what difference that makes," Logan challenged, shooting a heated gaze at her. "What does that matter to someone like me?" 

"You're a human also," Ororo shot back, glaring at him. "You can't hide behind Wolverine now, Logan. You can't tell me that it makes no difference to you because of that." 

"Damn it, 'Ro," Logan snarled. "I don't hide." 

"Oh, really," Ororo fired back, sitting forward. "That's all it seems to me. You're constantly going back to Wolverine. Using that as a way to justify chasing after Jean is disgusting." 

"Okay," Logan growled, glaring at her. "What about you?" 

"I am not the issue." Ororo spat, scowling hard. 

He barked out a laugh, pulling his booted feet off the table, trailing packed dirt after him, scattering it on the floor. "You have got to be the coldest woman I have ever known," he shot back, a faint wisp of a smile traveling over his lips, enjoying the shocked look on her face. "No wonder no one comes close to you. You're too rigid to attract any interest." 

"That is so far from the truth, Logan," Ororo growled herself, standing up, looking down at him fiercely. 

"Oh?" He asked, standing up as well, striding up to Ororo until he was only inches away from her body, forcing her to look up at his face. "All anyone can find in you is ice." 

"Logan," she warned him, feeling the electricity run down her arms, the small hairs on her skin standing up at attention. 

He didn't pay her any mind. Instead, he pushed forward, lifting a hand and dragging it up to her hip, staring at her intensely, deeper than the other times. Ororo couldn't help but stare at him, frozen in his eyes, recognizing that feeling flooding through her. 

"Sometime it makes me wonder what I'd have to do so smell desire on you, you're so fucking still," he growled, meeting her eyes, glaring into them. 

Ororo didn't say anything as she felt his hand move up from her hip, journeying to her waist, brushing lightly over the form fitting white shirt she wore. He lifted his other hand and buried it in her hair, dipping his head down close to hers, suddenly grinning at her parting mouth. 

"Ah, there it is," he said, suddenly dropping away. He didn't get very far. 

Ororo's eyes eclipsed to white, feeling the power coursing down her arms, tickling over her skin, amassing in her fingertips. 

She shoved back the tears that threatened to fall, rearing back and striking him hard, clapping him across the face, her power pouring out, knocking Logan off his feet. 

"Shit, 'Ro!" He yelled as soon as he was able, pushing himself up, feeling his claws automatically slide out of his hands, shining in the glow of her. Thunder was rumbling through the sky, speeding in on incoming clouds, generated solely by her. She was floating softy on the wind she made, eyes crackling, white hair floating in wisps around her head. 

As soon as she started, she chose to end it. Letting the clouds dissipate as they reached the mansion, only allowing a few stray lightening bolts to spread across the suddenly clear night sky. 

"Do not tamper with me, Logan," Ororo spat, letting her eyes return to their vivid blue, softly landing on the floor, watching him sit up, his gaze leveled on her. "I am not Jean." 

She left him laying on the floor, feeling the sharp stinging in his body, watching her leave the room without a glance behind. Ororo walked quickly to her room, hating the remaining feeling of his touch on her body, in her hair. As soon as she was in her room, she leaned back against the door, breathing hard. Slowly, she slid down the hard wood, finally sitting against the door with her legs pressed to her chest, and she closed her eyes.   


Author's Notes: Sorry this was so late! I kind of got caught up in those Breathe stories... 


	4. white sheets

> She could see him across the lawn, dark eyes prowling over her. Ororo pretended she didn't notice, taking a sip of her lemonade as she read through the last batch of the essays, enjoying the cooling summer weather. 
> 
> With quick glances from the scattered papers, she monitored his movements across the yard, darting her eyes back down to the papers when she was sure he was about to turn around to look for another tool. Recently he had come home with an old, barely running Harley Davidson, beat up and road weary. Scott had offered to help him fix it up, but, in his usual chipper self, Logan had calmly told the other man to fuck off. 
> 
> Ororo sighed quietly as she looked up from the papers, reaching back to pull her long white hair from the low pony tail, brushing her fingers through it casually, flipping it back behind her head. When her eyes fell back on the bike across the yard, she drew in a startled breath. Logan was leaning back on the balls of his feet, a greasy wrench in his hands, his gaze directed at her. 
> 
> Ororo frowned, suddenly feeling that familiar rush of excitement flood through her body, turning her cheeks a vibrant pink. She hated that feeling, trying in vain to push it back down, but she couldn't prevail, and the pink in her cheeks stayed, growing brighter as his fixed look lingered. He must have noticed it, because soon he was standing, dropping the wrench by the bike with a loud clang. He grabbed an oil spotted cloth and began rubbing it over his dirty hands, walking up to the porch where Ororo sat in her favorite chair. 
> 
> She dropped her eyes to the papers, her mind racing. There were two options. She could stay and talk to the arrogant bastard or she could take the coward's way out and sprint for the door. As she watched Logan walk up the steps in his oil stained clothes, a set scowl on his face, the door wasn't looking like such a bad option. 
> 
> Instead, she looked up, suddenly meeting his dark eyes, a frozen expression of anxiety on her face. 
> 
> He came to a stop by the whicker chair, looking down at her expectantly. When she didn't say anything, he sighed, dropping the rag next to her graded papers, smearing dabs of oil over the cover pages. 
> 
> "How are they?" He asked gruffly, nodding his head to her hands. 
> 
> "What?" Ororo asked, a constant frown on her face. "The papers?" 
> 
> He didn't say anything, so she nodded, shrugging. "They are fine. As always," she gave him a small smile. "My students are always exceptional." 
> 
> "I'll bet," Logan said, rubbing his hands over his dirty jeans. "Listen, 'Ro, all I want is for you to stay out of my business. If you do that, I'll stay out of yours." 
> 
> Ororo's mouth tightened. 
> 
> "That's what this is all about, isn't it?" Logan asked, pulling his oil splattered denim jacket off and tossing it on a chair, revealing the warm flannel shirt underneath. "That's why you've been avoiding me for a week, right?" 
> 
> "Logan," Ororo began firmly, standing up from her chair, pulling on her long sleeved duster sweater and fastening the strap around her waist. "If you wish to remain here I suggest that you learn to listen what others have to say to you. This is not Canada, this is not your little mobile home, nor is it an uncivilized bar in Laughlin City." 
> 
> "'Ro," Logan growled, running his hands through his dark hair, scowling at her intensely, the tendons in his hands flexing anxiously. 
> 
> "The fact of the matter is that you had no right, Logan," Ororo went on, ignoring him. "No right on all counts," she insisted. "And if you can't see that I don't know who's going to help you." 
> 
> With that she tossed the dirty rag off the remaining essays and stacked them up before him, refusing to look up. 
> 
> "'Ro," he tried, watching her pick up the numerous papers, acting as though he wasn't standing before her. 
> 
> "'Ro," he said again, gritting his teeth. Ororo straightened and looked up defiantly, running her eyes up and down his tense body. Then, without saying anything, she turned on her heel and headed toward the door. 
> 
> "Damn it," Logan snarled, reaching out and grabbing her arm, roughly jerking her back to him, his dirty hands smearing oil over the light colored sweater. 
> 
> A surprised cry escaped Ororo's lips as Logan pulled her to him, a few papers falling off the top of the stack, fluttering down to be trampled by her stumbling feet as he dragged her closer, leaning forward to glare at her. 
> 
> Ororo leaned back, her blue eyes widening, mouth parting in shock. 
> 
> "Listen to me, 'Ro," Logan growled, gripping onto her arms like a vice. "I hardly think that you had any reason to fry me, let alone try to hand out reprimands. You don't fuckin' know me, so don't jump to any conclusions. All right?" 
> 
> Ororo glared at him, glowering at his face which hovered only mere inches from her own. Finally, she pushed him away, breaking his iron grasp on her arms. 
> 
> "I have nothing to say to you, Logan," Ororo spat, taking a few steps back, leaving the crumpled papers where they lay. She turned quickly and left the courtyard, jerking the door open and slamming it shut behind her without a second look.

>   

> 
> That night a storm was brewing, the wind picking up and stirring the leaves in the trees, whistling over the window panes. Ororo sighed deeply in her sleep, unconsciously rolling to her side, snuggling against the pillow, the white sheets bunching around her legs as she drifted across the bed. 
> 
> She was dreaming, and in that dream all she could see were hands. They gripped the white sheets and skimmed over the smooth skin of her legs, constantly teasing her. She couldn't see the owner of those hands. The face was conveniently hidden behind a curtain of black. It was a void all around her, save for those sheets and those hands. 
> 
> Suddenly a wash of cool air drifted through the air and Ororo winced, jerking out of her dream world reluctantly. She could smell the o-zone in the air, but it was not enough to stir her. She kept her eyes closed, vaguely trying to remember if she had left her porch door open, but the haze of the dreams still clouded her mind, luring her back to sleep. 
> 
> Then she heard a low growl and her eyes snapped open. 
> 
> "Logan?" She asked, almost a throaty whisper as she pushed up from the bed, turning around. 
> 
> "No, baby."   
  
  

> 
> Logan jerked awake, squinting as the flourescent light poured into his room. 
> 
> "What the hell?" He asked, pushing himself up in the bed, shielding his eyes with an outstretched arm. There was a dark figure entering, no, rushing into his bedroom, and by the looks and the scent he knew who it was instantly. 
> 
> "Finally decided to join me, huh?" 
> 
> "No," Jean snapped quickly, stopping in the middle of the room. "Get up, Logan. It's an emergency." 
> 
> "What are you talking about? It's four in the morning." 
> 
> "It's Ororo," Jean said, voice quivering, her hands visibly shaking. 
> 
> Logan froze and stared at her. Then, in a calm voice, he asked, "What happened?" 
> 
> "She isn't in her room. Scott is searching the mansion but I can't pick her up anywhere," Jean answered, glancing back at Logan's door. "The Professor is going down to Cerebro now. He sent me to come get you." 
> 
> "Christ," Logan growled, raking his fingers through his dark hair, closing his eyes tightly. She couldn't be anywhere in the mansion, or even on the grounds if Jean didn't find any trace of her. Something wasn't right about this. Ororo wouldn't just leave the mansion for no reason, even if his relationship with her had been on the outs. That was no reason for her to up and go. Finally, he opened his eyes. "I'll be down there in a sec, Jean." 
> 
> "What do you intend to do?" Jean asked as he threw off the covers, climbing out of bed and stalking by her, grabbing the jeans he had left discarded on the floor. 
> 
> "I intend to go up to her room," Logan said, stopping and pulling on the denim pants. "Chuck will take a while in Cerebro. By the time he gets out of that box I'll have some idea of what happened." 
> 
> "I'm going also," Jean insisted, hurrying to the door. 
> 
> "No," Logan snarled, grabbing her arm and staring straight at her. "Go down to the sublevels. I'll be down there in a minute." 
> 
> Jean hesitated slightly and finally nodded when she saw Scott turning the corner to the hallway. 
> 
> "Jean?" Scott called, shooting a frown at Logan. "She isn't anywhere in the house." 
> 
> "Of course she ain't," Logan growled, turning to cast a severe gaze on the other man as he approached. 
> 
> "Where could she be then?" Scott asked, the dim light from Logan's bedroom reflecting off his red glasses. "There wasn't a sign of struggle in her room. The porch doors were open, but she always keeps them that way at this time of the year." 
> 
> "Yeah?" Logan asked, looking toward the stairs. "I guess we'll find out." 
> 
> With that, Logan left the two standing there, making his way up the stairs, padding over the soft carpet with his bare feet. He had a feeling, and he didn't like it at all. 
> 
> Slowly, he approached Ororo's room, glancing at the open door. He knew no one was lying in wait beyond that door, but his claws slipped out of his skin instinctively. Scents were rolling through the air as he stepped inside the room, tearing his gaze over the walls, his eyes falling on the white bed by the wall, the covers knotted in a clump by the foot of the bed, another sheet half lying on the floor. 
> 
> Logan walked up to the bed, claws slipping back into his hands as he kneeled by the sheet, lifting it to his face and smelling her unmistakable scent. At that he felt his heart pick up in his chest, beating faster as he rolled the scent over the back of his tongue. He dropped the sheet to the ground and stood, walking past the bed, having trouble not imagining her lying in it, sleeping comfortably on her stomach, her white hair fanning over her back and curling lightly over the pillows. Maybe she was even wearing that long silk number he had seen on her once, just briefly before he was convinced he was dying. 
> 
> "Shit," he muttered, shaking the image from his head. He wasn't going to start thinking that way, although it was hard. It had been since he had found himself hurtling across the room, sizzling from the shock of lightening. She hadn't made things easier for him since, blatantly ignoring his presence for days, drawing his temper to a flaming rage. Of all the things she had told him that evening she was definitely right about one thing. Ororo Munroe was definitely not Jean Grey. 
> 
> He kneeled down again, his eyes following a trail of footprints leading from the patio. They were no more than small, dirty dents in the carpet, but he could see their outlines perfectly, and he could smell the scent of the thing that had left them. Logan scowled at the porch railing, finding the small marks of claws in the wood. He could feel an unquenchable anger rising in him, something he knew he wasn't going to be able to control. Inadvertently, the blades in his hands came out of hiding again, glinting off the reflected light of the full moon. 
> 
> "Logan?" 
> 
> It was Rogue, standing just outside the doorway. "What's happening?" 
> 
> Logan stood up, not comforted by the young girl's honey-smooth southern voice. He turned, looking into Rogue's wide, dark green eyes, a low growl rising in his throat. 
> 
> "Sabretooth."   

> 
> Note: Thanks for waiting so patiently, again. :) What do you think?


	5. deep navy blue

Title: With the Wind  
Chapter: 5/?  
Disclaimer: The X-Men -- I bet you can't guess this one -- are not mine.  
Author's Note: I know...it's been a long time. But, hey! Chapter 5 is finally here! We're one tiny step closer...

Chapter 5: deep navy blue

She could barely see, let alone comprehend where she was. The room was dank, smelling of mildew and worse, making her want to cough, although she held the impulse, refusing to alert her captors.

There was movement. She could take in that much, following the shadows crossing over the tall walls. She tried moving her hands, but found them tied, harsh rope cutting into her wrists. 

"I think she needs another dose," a male voice drifted across the room. Ororo squinted, trying to see who was talking, only seeing blurs. She heard a growl and her whole body tensed, her head snapping up to look blearily around the room, only seeing the shadows of figures before her. 

"Calm down," a woman said next to her ear. "He won't hurt you. But of course, I can't guarantee it."

Before she knew what was happening she felt a sharp prick in her shoulder and she descended into darkness.

  


"What the hell do you mean he's still alive?" Logan snarled, feeling his whole body coil into an angry spring, his claws itching underneath his skin. "There's no way he could've survived that."

"You sure?" Scott asked, walking next to Logan with sure strides as they made their way down to Cerebro. "It's not like he couldn't heal as well as you. He took Ororo's lightening bolt pretty well in the train station a few months ago. I don't know why he wouldn't survive a fall like that."

Logan threw the other man a withering gaze before Jean jumped in, pushing her way between the two. "Does it matter?" She asked, striding toward the far wall, where a large rotating door was hissing open, revealing Xavier wheeling into the hallway.

Both men glanced over at her, Logan finally allowing himself a smirk as they met the Professor, the large rotating doors sliding shut behind him and audibly locking. The professor looked down at his hands, shaking his head wearily. 

"Sabretooth?" Logan asked, stopping in front of the older man.

"Yes," Xavier nodded, sighing and looking up at Logan, his face pale. "I'm afraid so."

"Can you tell me how that can be?" Logan asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"I knew of his presence after you left," Xavier responded calmly, looking up. "He has the same healing capabilities as you do, if not to a higher degree. I do not honestly know what he can survive."

"Shit," Logan growled, running his hands through his hair, not expecting that answer.

"It is worse, Logan," Xavier said quietly, raising his hand to his forehead and rubbing his temples. "He seems to have taken her to Magneto's compound outside of New York."

Scott frowned and shook his head. "But that was the first place we hit after..."

"I know," Xavier nodded. "Nevertheless, Ororo is there. I do not exactly know what Sabretooth could possibly want with her, but I am certain it is not of his planning."

"Magneto," Jean whispered, her eyes widening. 

"Yes, Jean," Xavier nodded. "And if it is Magneto that is behind this..."

"Anything could be possible," Jean finished for him, turning to look at Scott, a grave look on both their faces. 

Logan sucked in a breath, letting it out with a small rumble. 

"Well," Logan muttered hoarsely, glancing at Jean. "Let's get moving." Jean nodded and turned swiftly, striding down the hall. Logan moved to follow, but a hand fell on his shoulder before he could get any further than two strides up the hall.

"Wait," Scott insisted, letting go of Logan's shoulder when he felt him tense. "Since when are you suddenly coming along?"

Logan growled, turning and squaring himself at Scott. "This is Ororo," he said, staring the other man down, seeing himself reflected off those red glasses. "I'm not taking any chances."

With that, he glanced once at Xavier, who nodded, and wheeled around, walking with sure strides up the hallway.

  


Ororo woke up when she heard the very distinctive sound of silk tearing. It was a soft sound, like listening to weeping.

"Welcome back, baby," she heard a guttural voice, low and filled with raspy edges. She refused to open her eyes. The warmth by her feet told her not to. 

"Come on, open your eyes for me," the voice came again, closer to her now, enough to make her flinch. That drew a chuckle, a cat-like growl. "They're only gone for a minute."

At that moment Ororo thought she was going to start crying. She could barely feel herself, let alone the large hands on her legs, on her nightgown, ripping the white silk. Her head was a large cloud of haze refusing to be cleared, leaving Ororo in the middle, powerless, unable to concentrate on anything but the very vivid feeling of sharp claws pressing against her skin.

"Damn it, open your eyes," he snarled roughly, shredding the gown through this claws. She could feel the fragments fall through his fingers and brush against her legs, pitiful remnants of what they were once a part of.

Suddenly his hands were on her thighs, ripping the gown to shreds in frustration. Ororo's eyes whipped open, staring wide at the large beast kneeling at her feet, delighting in her horrified face. 

"I think you owe me something," he growled, rising up and setting his hands on the arms of the chair she was tied to, leaning in to hold his face just inches from her's. "I've been missing that scream."

Ororo let out a hissing breath and jerked as far from him as the binding would allow. He grinned and reached out, grabbing her chin roughly and forcing her to look at him, letting his gaze wander over her helpless features wantonly. 

Desperately she searched for some morsel of concentration, coming up empty as she began to panic, her ice blue eyes in a frozen state of shock. He laughed and let go of her chin, eagerly pushing forward, forcing his mouth on hers, his tongue pushing its way into her mouth. 

Ororo felt every muscle in her body tense in disgust, automatically clenching her jaw shut over his tongue. The only thing she could register was satisfaction at his howl of pain, watching him happily as he jerked back, clambering off of her so fast he stumbled and fell, growling. 

Ororo could taste the blood in her mouth as he stood up, stalking up to her. 

"Bitch," she heard just before a heavy, clawed hand struck her face, sending her again into darkness.

The Blackbird screamed through the air, the jet black plane diving sharply through the night sky as they drove closer to New York. 

"We'll have to go around the city, Scott," Jean said as the lights from the sky scrapers dotted into view on the horizon. 

"Of course," Scott agreed tensely, refusing to look at her, keeping his red sight directly ahead, glancing frequently at the many controls before him. Jean sat in the co-pilot's chair, helping Scott as best she could with the plane. Behind her was Logan, glaring at the back of her seat, flexing his hands in the leather suit, feeling the claws itching underneath his skin, begging to tear into flesh. Instead, he let them slid out of his hands, slitting six holes into the leather suit, hardly satisfied by the ripping noise. 

Scott glanced behind him at the sound, keeping a level expression. Logan only glared back, sliding the claws back into his hands. Neither said a word.

Suddenly the jet banked and dipped, heading off to the wide expanse of deep navy blue. 


	6. strips of silk

6 -- strips of silk

In the back of his mind all he could think about was pooling blood, the thick liquid settling over the silk, sinking through the fabric and dripping onto the cold, hostile floor. Beyond that was the urge to slam his balled up fist into the wall to release the tension building within him, threatening to come billowing forth. But he saved it, nurturing it carefully for a better moment.

Eerie silence hung through the corridors as they walked slowly in their small formation, nerves sharpened to a point. The only noises were the hard sounds of heavily soled black boots hitting the dense metal floor, and the hair-rising crackles of leather as Logan flexed his hands, gripping and releasing as they moved.

Finally, they came to a crossroads and they stopped, glancing around them with hardened eyes. 

"Great," Scott muttered, the streak of red across his eyes flashing dimly in the low light. "Still nothing, Jean?"

Jean only shook her head, a set frown of concentration on her face. 

"Then what do you suggest?" Came Logan's gruff voice, his face barely hidden by the stark shadows.

"Split up," Scott said, glancing down each of the three tunnels, staring intensely down the corridor to his left. 

Logan moved off to the right as each took their own corridor, glaring into the darkness. Faint streams of light beamed through the dusty air, running up Logan's figure in fans as he walked through the metal tube, dark eyes glittering with the thought of blood.

  
  


Ororo woke with a jerk, her bright blue eyes startled and refusing to focus, only registering the deep shadows that seemed unmoving as her head swam, reeling around like an insane carousel she didn't know how to stop. 

"Had a good time?" Came a gruff voice above her, just before large hands adorned with dark claws grasped her arms, throwing her over on her back. Suddenly she was aware that she was no longer tied to the chair. It must have gotten in his way, she thought bitterly, as she tried to focus on his face, the long strands of blond hair coming into focus, the sharp teeth.

"Nothing to say?" He snarled, dropping her limp body back on the cold metal floor, stinging against her marred and bruised skin as she rolled to her side, wincing at the impact. 

"I've got to go now, baby," he continued, growling low in his throat. She tried to struggle out of the rope that tied her hands behind her back as he watched her with amusement, just before he slammed his booted foot into her stomach.

Ororo tried to scream, but strangely she could make no sound. All she could do was bow her head and writhe on the metal floor, trying to find her breath, watching him stoop over her, bringing his face close to her's, his long hair brushing along her cheekbones and mingling into her platinum locks, which were tangled from exertion.

"It's been fun," he chuckled against her lips as she attempted to find her breath, gasping, closing her eyes from the raw pain that shot through her limbs and up her spine. "Maybe I'll get to do it again sometime."

He hovered there for a moment, breathing heavily against her cracked, bloodied lips, studying her mouth as though it were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, smiling when her tongue darted out to taste her bottom lip, finding the tangy blood with alarm.

At that, he grasped her head hard with both hands and drew her to him, pressing his mouth against her's, loving the feel of it, looking into her perfect blue eyes that had opened in shock, before slamming her back against the frigid floor.

  
  


He wasn't exactly sure where he was going, but he followed the corridor, keeping tabs with Jean every few minutes for a report. He could picture Sabretooth in his head, imaging the bastard bloodied and beaten, lying dead where he had left him. But the only image that was truly driving him forward was Ororo lying in her bed, sleeping peacefully against her white cotton sheets, her hair sweeping across her closed eyes. It was almost enough to make him want to step inside the vision and walk across the room to run his hand across her bare back, to feel smooth skin against rough, and wake her from whatever dream she was having. It was almost enough to want to feel her. 

Then suddenly a scent floated before him, tangy and as metallic as the floors that he was walking on. He stopped dead in his tracks.

Just before his booted feet was a small strip of white silk, with a spot of blood sitting like a warning sign on the corner of the small shred. 

"Shit," he muttered, picking up the small piece of slippery silk, feeling the tightly woven threads between his fingers. It was reeking of Sabretooth, as though Ororo's soft smell had been obliterated. Disgusted, he crumpled up the silk in his hand, heading further down the corridor before he came across the another strip of silk. There was more blood this time. 

Without thinking, Logan broke into a run, passing the pieces of silvery cloth as he thundered through the corridor, the blades in his hands literally screaming against his skin. As the strips of silk began to seem dyed red, instead of their pure white, the smell became worse, seeping through the corridor. Before Logan was a door, cracked open as though taunting him.

He flew at it, shoving the heavy slab of metal aside as though it were nothing, the shining claws sliding out of his hands on instinct. He slid to a stop, his eyes falling on the vision of a battered goddess.

She was lying in the middle of the room, eyes closed, her lungs rising and falling just barely as he walked to her hesitantly, as though each step pained him. No Sabretooth, said his senses. There was no Sabretooth. 

Yet Ororo was there, welts and bruises forming across her arms and legs, bloody trails journeying along her smooth skin, her night gown shredded to pieces around her legs and up to her stomach, revealing glimpses of her underwear. 

"'Ro," he said hoarsely, nearly blinded by the intense urge to hunt down, find, and maul the blond bastard. 

The knifes slid back into his hands at his will, forcing them back as he knelt by her, untying her wrists, running his rough hands over the rope burns marring her skin. There was no response.

"Fuck," he growled, pushing one hand over her forehead, smoothing her white hair off her face, burying his fingers into the tangles, feeling the strands weaving around his fingers. The pale tresses were still soft as hell.

He had her in his arms, his hands pressing her body to his chest as he walked down the corridor, passing the strips of silk blotched with blood. Her head was limply nestled against his neck, her white hair tumbling over her shoulders and down his right arm as he walked, glancing down at her every few steps, noticing the long lashes that lined her eyelids, making her look peacefully asleep.

The remains of the silk gown hung pitifully around her legs, swinging and twirling, brushing against her bare feet. He turned his head slightly, smelling her scent in her hair, mingled with blood and worse, the anger rising up in him like a curling tidal wave.

"Jean!" He shouted down the corridor, hearing the echoes resound along the metallic walls.

"Logan?" He heard her answer like a ghost by his ear.

"I've got her," he growled aloud, tightening his hold on Ororo's soft body.

"What about Sabretooth?" Came the whispered response, surprised.

"Fuck him," he snapped, keeping the wave of anger from falling down onto the beach, trying to keep it at bay. "We're getting out of here."

"Right," Jean acknowledged, her voice fading. 

He stepped through the rows of light, watching the beams fall over Ororo in rapid succession as he walked, his eyes slipping over her body in his arms, finding the slits in the silk over her breasts, the creamy skin underneath still clean and untouched. 

"We're going to get you home," he muttered into her hair, breathing in the smells of the unidentified flower that had somehow managed to make it through the stench. He tightened his grasp on her and watched for the crossroads. 

Author's Note: So I finally got motivated! I really am sorry about the massive gap in updates between part four and five. School is just a monster this semester. Anyway, I'm back in the swing of things and I think I'm gonna change the rating for With the Wind to R because the number of curse words has gone over, like, two. Eh. It was gonna become an R rated story soon anyway. But, enough rambling. Feedback anyone? 


	7. stainless steel

  
  


7. stainless steel

  
  
  
  


He sat by her bedside for hours with his head in his hands, thick fingers woven through the wiry strands of black. Had she known this, she may not have been so startled when she woke up to see him there, bending over in the uncomfortably modern chair. 

She was still asleep, twitching every now and then as though she were reliving the moments of dirty claws scraping lightly over her skin, the owner of those talons obviously aware of how much it took to balance along the line between fear and pain, slicing along, leaving tiny bloody trails on her skin as red stained his fingertips. 

His dark eyes, when he lifted them, could only draw along her skin, falling on the deepening shades of ugly black, blue, and purple ringing around her upper arms, across her face, around her wrists. He knew the expanding bruises would steadily look worse in the next few days before her body would begin to heal, hopefully erasing any evidence that her skin had ever been broken. 

The itching behind his knuckles he ignored when he watched her breathe, her lungs contracting and expanding, her light lips barely parted. She seemed so on the verge of waking that the anticipation was gnawing at him, forcing the nerves inside his hands singing, echoing along the metal claws sheathed within. 

He forced himself to look at the floor, to stare at its unmarred, white surface and dwell on the acts even Jean could not force herself to say. The image of it in his mind grew to a festering sore, a rumor that begged for someone to deny. 

When he looked up, there were her blue eyes, wide and staring like a doe's, her face registering complete panic.

"Logan?" She gasped as he pushed forward, nearly falling out of the damned chair in his haste to reach her before she remembered.

Ororo sucked in a breath and winced as her expanding lungs cried out in pain, throbbing spreading up and down her rib cage. 

"Don't move, 'Ro," she heard Logan order gruffly, putting a firm hand on her arm, trying to avoid the numerous shallow scratches with his long fingers. 

"Logan," Ororo whispered again, licking her dry, cracked lips until she drew some moisture over them, flinching as she felt the splits in the skin.

"Shush," Logan said, standing up from the ridiculous chair and putting a hand on her forehead. "Fever's broken," he added almost as an afterthought, as though he were talking to himself.

"What's happened?" Ororo tried to say, finding her voice cracking, blinking her eyes rapidly. She felt broken. Every inch of her was screaming, commanding her to not move. She desperately wanted to disobey and sit up, but each time she would attempt it she was met with Logan's harsh, disciplinary stare and a wave of nausea. 

"You're in the infirmary," Logan said, trying to keep his voice level, pushing away the anger and the immense physical longing to unsheathe his claws and do serious damage to something. 

"What?" Ororo frowned, squeezing her eyes shut. "Logan, this is wrong. Everything about it was wrong."

"You were kidnaped, 'Ro," Logan said, trying hard to keep his voice soft, reasonable. He gripped the bed rail so hard he could hear it creak pitifully against his flesh. "And..."

"You were a decoy," Jean finished for him. Ororo and Logan both glanced over at the door as Jean walked inside, striding over to the bed, giving Ororo a small, concerned smile. 

"A decoy?" Ororo asked, her eyes flying open to look up at her friend. "For what?"

Logan shifted uncomfortably, looked down at Ororo and then up to Jean before he caught the silent message to go. Quietly he stepped back and moved away from the bedside without a word, striding with hard steps out of the infirmary. 

Jean sighed as she watched Logan go, bowing her head down before meeting Ororo's confused eyes.

"What happened?" Ororo asked pointedly, finding the strength inside her to be demanding. 

"Do you remember anything?" Jean asked softly in response. "Anything about Sabretooth?"

"I was drugged," Ororo frowned, her voice hoarse and grating, as though protesting being used. "I don't know where I was, but he was there, and I think Mystique before it was just me and..."

"'Ro," Jean put a comforting hand on Ororo's arm, looking hard at her. "He didn't do anything..."

Ororo looked up, her blue eyes wide.

"No," she stated as firmly as she could. "No. Mystique was there until the end, and after that I don't think..."

Ororo stopped, staring straight ahead before letting out a small sigh. "I was unconscious most of the time. And that would not have been much fun for him -- to not see my pain." 

Jean was silent for a moment, regarding Ororo quietly before she squeezed her arm gently and let go, taking a breath.

"'Ro, Magneto is gone."

"What?" Ororo asked, her breath caught in her throat. 

"It happened not four hours ago," Jean sighed, rubbing her temples. "We believe that you were used as a decoy. You were just something that would lure us away from the mansion just long enough and leave Xavier unprotected."

"Is he alright?" Ororo asked, shocked. "Where is he?"

"He's fine," Jean said, casting a glance over at Ororo and then away to check on the charts. "Magneto escaped silently, with Mystique most likely at work."

"Do we have any idea where he went?" Ororo asked, trying again to push herself up.

"Rest, 'Ro," Jean demanded, coming back up to the bed. "And no. For all we know he could be anywhere."

  
  


The cigar smoke drifted up and slightly to the east, the pale wisps trailing off into the breeze of the early autumn air. He stood silently on the porch, listening to the remains of the night flow swiftly by.

"Logan?"

"You should be in bed, kid," he muttered, exhaling another plume of smoke, watching it disperse over the air, brightened by the light of the moon.

"I couldn't sleep," Rogue answered, leaning against the door way. "Not with you guys running about anyway."

"Funny," Logan growled, turning around to look over at the teenaged girl he had come to regard as something of a sister. "It's late. You should be up in your room."

Rogue batted her long eyelashes and shrugged, swinging her white streaked dark brown pony tail. "It is almost six in the morning, Logan. There isn't much more for me to do around here than to just sit and wait out the sunrise."

"Fine," Logan relented, turning back around and watching the courtyard, hearing Rogue's bare feet step quietly over the stones of the porch. 

"Is she okay?" Rogue asked, stopping next to him, hugging herself as a cool breeze picked up, coming in from the north. 

"She will be," Logan replied gruffly. "Jean's looking after her now."

"I guess I won't have history today," Rogue frowned, her young forehead wrinkling with worry. "How long do you think it will take her to heal?"

"Don't know, kid," Logan inhaled the bitter smoke, exhaling it just as quickly, feeling rushed and not right, his hands still itching. "Jean would know better than me."

Rogue stood for a minute. "I know Magneto's gone," she said, looking down at her feet, the toenails painted pink from a previous sleep over. 

"How many people did you tell that story?" Logan threw her a warning glance.

"No one," Rogue answered quickly in her southern accent. "I didn't tell anyone. I was just awake and I saw people heading away from the house. That's all."

"Oh?" Logan muttered, thinking nothing of it. They had escaped. Whatever direction they had gone was pointless information now. 

"Don't tell anyone," Logan muttered, looking at the cigar, the smoldering end glowing softly. "It's nothing to be worried about yet."

"Alright," Rogue nodded, pushing back a strand of unnatural white hair, pulling it between her fingers. Logan didn't say anything more. He kept staring out into the darkness, his eyes unwavering.

"I think I'm gonna take a shower," Rogue announced suddenly, throwing the unruly white strand back. "Classes start at eight."

"See you in the morning, kid," Logan said absently as Rogue turned, heading back to the french doors.

"Right, Logan," Rogue answered, pausing. "She'll be okay, you know."

"I know," Logan nodded, looking back down at the end of the cigar. "That ain't my concern."

Rogue closed the door behind her softly, padding back up the staircase and Logan looked at his hands, his eyes wandering over the knuckles. The claws underneath were chanting endlessly at him, droning on and on in his ears. 

He let out a strangled growl, irritated as hell and seeing nothing on the near horizon that was going to offer any shred of relief from the fact that it had been Ororo. 

Softly, almost without notice, he put the cigar out on the back of his hand, silencing the deafening roar of those blades, then flung it away without wincing. 

Author's Note: Yeah! I finally figured out this really irritating chapter! Breathing a big sigh of relief here. :) I know I was really unmotivated the past few months because of school and all, but I've got breathers this time around so maybe I'll get some stuff done around here. And feedback is so wonderfully accepted and loved forever! 


	8. ante oculos

Author's Note: Hey look! A new chapter! Complete with a Latin title (which means before one's eyes) and everything! Special thanks go out to Rhiannon, who got me going on producing another chapter. I am forever grateful! And the beautiful responses...I can never get enough. Thank you all! They are great pieces of encouragement!

8. Ante Oculos

It had been two weeks. And of those two weeks she had seen Logan for approximately five seconds, give or take the amount of time it took for him to pass by her open bedroom door. The only minuscule amount of time she had been in his presence had been three days ago exactly, when she had been restless enough to get up in the middle of the night and wander down to the kitchen to rummage in the fridge, something she rarely did, and produce an orange. She had taken her time peeling it, wondering if the extra labor might make her tired, but before she could pull apart the sections the door of the garage banged open and suddenly Logan was clomping past. 

She could remember sitting like a statue, the orange forgotten in her hand, staring face to face with Logan. During that time, the kitchen clock clicked away, counting off the fleeting moments. One click and he stopped to glance at her, another click and she stared back, the third click caught them both swallowing hard, and the fourth and fifth sweeps of the second hand were all that Logan needed to vacate the room. 

It wasn't that she didn't want to thank him for her rescue, Ororo told herself over and over again. It was because when ever she saw one passing glimpse of him his eyes were so hard that she couldn't imagine being able to approach him, much less be able to stand still under his gaze.

And so that was how things proceeded. Ororo healed and Logan remained distant, both watching each other out of the corners of their eyes when they were sure the other wasn't looking. 

Summer was quickly winding down, the air becoming tangy and fresh, the humidity drifting away in the breezes coming down from the north. Ororo would sit on the porch each evening to watch the sun set, taking notice of the yellow and orange that had started to creep into the leaves of the large maples planted around the mansion, their green masses tinged with auburn. 

Sometimes, after the sun had gone down and she was ready to return indoors, her hand would stop before it reached the doorknob, hesitating over the worn bronze when the roar of Logan's motorcycle tore down the driveway and down the aisle of trees that flanked the mansion, heading Ororo knew not where. 

Ororo would stand facing the windows of the french door, looking at herself in the reflection of the glass, before turning her blue eyes to catch the glimpse of the last rays of the sun slipping over Logan's black bike, watching it disappear along the road, the roar faint but ringing in her ears. 

"Is the color good?" 

Ororo stared at herself in the mirror, watching the pale blue dress swirl around her legs, the silky material falling against her bare skin. 

"It's a stunning color," Ororo answered, trying to hold still as the seamstress pinned in the hemline.

Jean smiled as she stood in the doorway, obviously happy about her choice. 

"Do you think I should have gone with sleeves?" Jean asked, finding something else to worry about. "It is an October wedding, and the temperature is changing so drastically. Do you think..."

"Jean," Ororo looked at her friend in the mirror, giving her a reassuring stare. "The ceremony will be indoors. And if you need a warm snap, I'm sure that can be arranged."

The seamstress paused in her work to glance up at Ororo, and then at Jean before returning to the dress, putting in the last finishing touches. 

"That should do it," the woman said, stepping back and looking at the dress critically, stalking around Ororo to make sure everything was tucked and pinned in place. "Yes, that's going to be your finished product, unless you want the hem dropped."

"No," Jean shook her head, giving the woman a smile. "It looks wonderful. Thank you very much."

The seamstress smiled at Jean and then at Ororo, touching the skirt of the dress again as if she just wanted to feel the softness between her fingertips. 

"It's a beautiful choice," she said, before pulling back her hand and looking up at Ororo. "I'll leave you to get dressed."

Ororo slipped out of the dress, pricking herself only once on the multitudes of tiny pins dotting the hem, and went to her far more comfortable white turtle neck sweater and jeans, pulling them on slowly as Jean rambled about the dress, looking starry eyed and brilliant.

"You couldn't pull off anything tacky if you tried, Jean," Ororo chuckled to her friend's worries about the wedding as she pulled the sweater over her head, pulling out her long white hair from the collar, watching it fan around her head and out, charged with static electricity. Ororo calmly shook her head, ridding the static from her hair, and returning the platinum locks to their perfect state of tumbling down her back and getting lost in the white of her sweater. 

Jean sighed and sat down in one of the chairs. "I know. But the work is so unbelievable. Thank God everything is being held at the mansion. I don't think I would be able to survive this if Xavier hadn't liked the idea of having the wedding there."

"He wanted the kids there," Ororo said, pulling on her expensive leather boots, standing up to her full height, aided somewhat by the heels of her shoes.

"I know," Jean said, then laughed. "And it's the only way we would've been able to get Logan there."

Ororo paused, glancing over at Jean. "I thought you were rather indifferent to having Logan present at the wedding."

Jean shrugged, standing up. "At first," she admitted, then smiled at Ororo. "But perhaps seeing him with you during the first week after we got you back home changed my mind."

"What do you mean?" Ororo asked, remembering nothing of Logan being with her, and frowning at Jean's gentle eyes.

"He sat with you when you slept," Jean said, letting out a chuckle. "I know it sounds like nothing, but he refused to be sent away. The Professor couldn't even get him out of that chair."

Ororo drew back, not believing. "But he's been avoiding me for weeks."

"I don't know how to explain it," Jean shrugged. "But he stayed with you. It was as if he was afraid you might slip away into thin air without someone watching you all the time."

Ororo stood, soundly floored by this news that no one had told her until now. Part of her wanted to find Logan and slap him senseless for his unprovoked behavior, but the other part was strangely quiet, secretly enjoying the feeling of being noticed. 

"Are you coming?" Jean asked, opening the door into the main room of the shop.

"Of course," Ororo answered, shaking her thoughts away before pulling on her coat and leaving the dressing room.

Later that night Ororo sat in her chair like she always did, bathed in the light of the fading red sun and the pale reflection of the full moon rising low behind her. In the dying light, she smoothed out the trampled paper from weeks earlier, marking it lightly with her red pen and pausing at the end, getting caught in the conclusion. She wrote her comments and the grade - an A for work well done - and placed it at the top of the small stack in front of her. 

She was so pleased to finally see the project completed, that she didn't notice the absent roar down the row of trees, or the soundless footfalls of heavy boots making their way up the rock porch.

Only when the obvious moving shadow invaded her sight did she look up, finding herself not all that surprised when she glanced at him quickly, taking in his appearance in dirty denim and characteristic wild black hair.

"No ride tonight?" she asked him, giving him a fleeting look before turning to the papers, shutting them into her manila folder and looking back up at him, waiting for an answer.

"Not yet," came the gruff reply. It was something she had expected to hear. 

"So what brings you on this detour?" Ororo asked, knowing she seemed careless and all too willing to begin another argument, and at the same time not knowing why. Perhaps it was the only common ground they shared. Fighting seemed natural between them, and all else was slightly foreign. 

"I didn't have to come up here," he growled, making the small hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end, making her reassess her approach.

"You are right," Ororo sighed, picking up the folder of papers and standing up, only a few inches shorter than his solid frame, making it easier to look into his dark eyes. "I am sorry, Logan. I had meant to thank you, not start another meaningless argument."

The honesty behind her tone had him without a reply, so she gripped the papers closer to her chest and stumbled on. 

"I know," she said, looking at nothing in particular and finding her gaze settling in the center of his chest. "I do know about everything, and I wanted to say that I am grateful that you stayed with me."

"'Ro, all I did was pick you up off the floor and shuttle you home," Logan said, backing off the subject. "That's all I did."

"Jean says differently," Ororo replied, not exactly sure of herself as she inched toward him, tipping her head up to look him in the eyes, standing before him with a quiet insistence. "Why did you stay?"

Logan took a step back, drawing a sharp breath that made Ororo stop in her tracks, her eyes wide. 

"There's nothing to say," he insisted roughly, looking up to hold her eyes with his. "Just let it drop."

Ororo sighed audibly, tipping her head back enough to look at the darkening sky before staring back at him. "Why must you always turn to that? We can not let this drop, Logan. Please."

"It will drop," Logan insisted, suddenly moving forward, taking just one stride before almost being too close to her, imposing his presence there. "There is nothing to talk about here, 'Ro. I stayed with you as part of a favor toward Jean."

"Jean?" Ororo asked, her voice incredulous. 

"Jean," he repeated, his eyes dropping from her frightening blue orbs to her lips, and she caught it, surprised to find her body singing with that look. She knew by the look in his eyes that he felt her and he stepped back, trying to escape her eyes.

"I've got to go," Logan said, turning on his heel and walking away, his jaw visibly clenched. 

"Logan," Ororo tried, but he didn't answer her, and she watched his figure retreat until it slipped into the shadows. 

Ororo stood on the patio, her mind racing with the memory his burning look on her mouth, quiet as she heard the roar of the motorcycle spill through the silence, and drone down the ally of trees, disappearing in the wind. 


	9. changed eyes

9. Changed Eyes

  
  


Logan didn't exactly mean to do what he was doing. But it wasn't like he could stop himself either. Lately he had stopped the nightly motorcycle runs, but he didn't think that really helped the situation. And yet instead of starting them back up again he found himself plunking down in Ororo's spot on the porch at night to wait for the cold to come in, smoking a cigar, taking a little happiness in knowing Ororo wasn't peachy keen on the idea of him staking claim on her spot and soiling it with reeking smoke. 

This was definitely unsteady ground. 

Jean had been steady ground, he reminded himself. She had been his Rome. She had been everything he ever wanted, including a tag along that he could easily use as a foil to prove how exactly women should want him instead of the average roses and chocolate boyfriend. Jean had been perfect. And yet he found himself wondering why the hell he didn't really care about sending looks in her direction that had always made her fair skin brighten into shades of pink. Even more concerning was why he and Scott seemed to be taking on something of a friendship. Just the other day they had worked on the Jag's engine while only throwing mild insults at each other. 

Things were getting odd. 

Then, of course, there was Ororo. 

Not leaving the mansion every night had eventually meant possible interaction, and for the first time in the part of Logan's life that he actually remembered it was interaction that he had no idea what to do with. She was there. He was there. He should do something. What the something should be he found himself having little to no clue.

This concerned him.

He had always known with Jean. Suggestive remarks usually worked. Knowing glances. Light touches to skin that may or may not be bare. These were all acceptable when it came to Jean. They were not acceptable with Ororo. Or, he found himself wondering, maybe they were. He sure has hell didn't know. The simple fact that he didn't know and didn't feel that he should find out left him floundering.

This also concerned him. 

So he settled for distance if he could help it, and he watched. He would settle himself, watch, and wonder what was going on behind her soft facade of blue. 

  
  


Ororo Munroe was sick of this feeling. It was something too deep and too dark for her to describe, and yet it had taken up residence in the bottom of her stomach and had refused to move for days. And it only got worse when Logan was present. Then it was an unescapable void that Ororo fell into, making her nauseous or angry or generally pissed off. 

Right about now she was feeling the nauseous side of the strange dark hole. Then again, Ororo thought to herself as she glanced outside her classroom, where Logan stood dutifully waiting for Rogue to finish her test, she was borderline angry. 

Then Logan shifted weight to another leg as he leaned against the wall across from her classroom, turning his dark gaze to fall on her through her open doorway, his eyes empty and suggestive at the same time. The mere thought that Logan could hold both emotions at the same moment angered her to no end, but the way that look was making her spine stiffen and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as if on electrical current... 

No. Scratch the anger, she thought. This was pissed off. 

It had been rather strange lately. If Logan was completely acting like she didn't exist, he would be giving her the same look. It appeared like a smoldering gaze on one hand, and on the other it was so blatantly nothing. 

And if the ignoring didn't make Ororo angry, the look was just about to send her through the roof.

Ororo tried to remain calm. She sat and attempted to look like she was going through her grade book as the kids in her class scribbled crazily over their desks, many of them probably cursing her for insisting on essay tests. 

But through the soft and itchy scratching of graphite on paper fibers Ororo could feel the stillness outside the classroom, and anything that broke that silence sent her nerves into such a frenzy that she would look up only to see him, his cursed stare, and a set of dark eyes. 

Ororo glanced at him out of the corner of her vision, then leaned back in her chair and stared straight forward, filing through her treasure chest of fleeting or unabashedly uncomfortable moments, letting her photographic memory slip through the accidental touches and the unnerving looks that he seemed to be sending her whenever they happened into the same room. It was all so juvenile, Ororo thought to herself, wanting to roll her eyes. Lately she had noticed that even her palms would start to sweat when there was even a remote chance that he would be walking by.

In fact, she noticed with some muted horror, they were sweating now.

Ororo quickly rubbed her palms against her jeans, trying to shut Logan out of her mind. How hard would it be to stand up and shut the door? Would it even make her feel better?

There was another movement outside. Logan was shifting his weight again, his eyes never leaving her. 

That was it. Ororo was up and out of her chair before she could even think to stop herself.

Students looked up to find their teacher striding purposefully out the door, pausing and looking at each other in confusion. Before they could ask what she was doing Ororo had stepped out of the classroom and slammed the door after her, turning to a very surprised Logan.

"Exactly what do you think you are doing?" Ororo asked clearly and to the point. 

Before Logan could get much of an explanation out of his mouth Ororo was continuing on, looking flustered and annoyed. He settled for watching her speak. Ororo being flustered was something he enjoyed seeing. 

"What on earth do you think you're doing just standing out in the middle of the hallway staring at me as if I'm some piece of meet? I do not appreciate..."

Yeah, Logan thought to himself. This was highly entertaining.

"I am sick of these grating little games you've been playing, Logan. Could you not be any more immature than to..."

Logan had really stopped listening to her complaints and her hissing tirade. He found his eyes had led him elsewhere, and, even though his mind had somewhat declared that he should probably be listening to what she had to say, his eyes had easily convinced his mind to stay silent. 

"Logan!" Ororo hissed, getting his attention snapped back like a slap in the face. "Were you at all paying attention?"

"Sure," Logan nodded, pushing away from the wall and looking down at her, catching the unmistakable and still unnamed scent on her. 

"You were not," she said blatantly, glaring at him with icy blue eyes.

Well, she had him there.

"Logan," Ororo growled, a warning blow.

"I'm just waitin' for Rogue to finish up," Logan grunted, shifting his weight to another leg. "If you want me to move, I'll move."

Ororo sighed and shook her head. Things could not be more uncomfortable than they were at this moment. Finally, she squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples, wondering how on earth any of this had happened. 

"It's not about you standing here," Ororo whispered, trying to keep her voice down. "It's about everything else."

"Everything else?" Logan asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Everything under the sun, Logan," Ororo answered. "I demand to know what's going on with you."

And then, in the classic moment of pause, the door to Ororo's class room opened and Rogue's head appeared, giving them both a confused look before saying: "Ms. Munroe, there's a pretty big typo on here and we don't really know what to...um...do with it."

Ororo sighed. Of course. 

"I'll be right there, Rogue," Ororo said, giving Logan a heavy look before spinning on her heel and entering her classroom again, slamming the door behind her. Logan laughed and settled himself against the wall, tipping his head back and looking at the ceiling, Ororo's flushed skin fresh in his memory.

  
  
  
  


The warmth snapped easily like a twig under a boot, and as guests began to trickle in for the wedding the mansion was soon overrun with activity. Leaves were falling from the tops of trees, drifting softly to litter the mansion grounds with color over the dying grass. Even though everything was going planned, Jean found herself uncharacteristically nervous. And when she dropped a box of glasses for the wedding down the stairwell, Jean had retired to Ororo's room, lying on her friend's bed with her long dark red hair fanned around her head over Ororo's white sheets.

"Please tell me everything is going to go smoothly," Jean pleaded, getting an amused look from Ororo. "I don't think I can handle this anymore."

"No worries, Jean," Ororo chuckled, sitting down on the bed next to Jean. "Everything is going fine so far. There is no reason to get upset."

"I don't know if I'm ready for this," Jean said, shaking her head, getting a sharp laugh from Ororo.

"Please, Jean. You and Scott are madly in love. You are very ready for this, and I don't have to tell you that. You already know."

Jean nodded quietly, giving Ororo a calming smile. "I don't know what I'd do without you, 'Ro."

"You'd be fine without me," Ororo answered. "And you're going to be fine with Scott in that new house."

"You promise me you'll come over all the time," Jean said, giving Ororo that same pleading look.

"You're only moving half a mile down the road," Ororo burst out laughing.

"I know," Jean said, sighing, looking up at Ororo. "But how are you? You haven't been acting like yourself lately."

Ororo opened her mouth and quickly shut it, not willing to pour all the mysterious problems she had been having with Logan over the past few weeks on Jean. She had enough to worry about in the first place.

"Ororo," Jean demanded, sitting up and giving her a knowing look. "What's wrong."

"Oh, nothing is wrong," Ororo shook her head. "Nothing important."

"Logan?"

"No!" Ororo cried, shocked as she saw a smile curl up Jean's mouth. "Nothing at all to do with Logan."

"'Ro," Jean laughed, barely able to keep the grin off her face. "It's not as if I haven't noticed. I may not have wanted Logan, but I'd have to be blind to not realize his, well, affections had been transferred."

Ororo sighed, sitting back down on the bed. 

"I honestly don't know how you put up with it," Ororo said, shaking her head.

"Well, it was so much easier when all I had to do was reject it," Jean said, shrugging. "I assume it would be harder to handle if you didn't want to."

"Jean!" Ororo cried. "I do want to reject it."

"You know I don't believe that," Jean smiled, thoroughly enjoying herself. Leave it to the best friend to figure out everything without being asked. Ororo rolled her eyes.

"You've seen the way we act around each other," Ororo wrinkled her nose at the memories, trying to be repulsed by them. "We can hardly be civil."

"Lately it's been rather adorable," Jean chuckled, standing up.

"And how long have you been keeping tabs on this?" Ororo asked, looking up at Jean with raised eyebrows. 

"Long enough," Jean said, pulling her long hair into a pony tail and pushing back her shoulders, ready to head back out and talk with family and friends. 

"I don't believe this," Ororo sighed, hating that her heartbeat had suddenly sped up as the topic of the conversation had turned to Logan.

"Work on it, 'Ro," Jean said, opening the door and turning back to her friend. "Things will fall into place."

"I hardly think so," Ororo scoffed, giving her friend a narrowed glare as Jean waved to her and closed the door with a smile, turning to walk down the hallway with an extra bounce in her step. 

Author's Note: Okay, so this chapter was pretty light hearted. I promise I'll get back to all the fun angst in chapter 10. ;) Reviews! Reviews are cherished forever and ever!


	10. falling amber

10: Falling Amber

Sitting down was heaven, Ororo had decided as she sat delicately perched on the end of a white, ribbon entwined metal chair, pushing the expanse of light blue material off of her feet to rub at her aching heels.  It was the first moment she had been able to escape, trying not to collapse in a tired heap at the empty table at the end of the mansion lawn.  

There was a wedding reception running in full swing around her, but Ororo had had her fill of the cheerful insanity and was taking her few minutes of break, slipping the wretched shoes off and curling her toes in the dying grass of the lawn.  This moment of peace was the best thing that had happened to her all day, after getting up early to be thrown the high gear of Jean's wedding.  

A cool October breeze slipped around her and picked up her ironed curls in the wind along with the red and orange leaves that scattered down from the trees.  Ororo pushed back her platinum curls, letting her fingers brush through the intricate tresses.  It had been a nightmare to get her hair to cooperate that morning, and the several bobby pins immersed in the white mass on top of her head, digging into her scalp, were definitely not welcome.  Ororo looked forward to the moment when she could tear it all down.

Not too far into Ororo's thoughts of freeing her hair, Scott approached, sitting down next to her and throwing an arm around her shoulders. 

"Hello, Scott," Ororo smiled, grinning at the groom and knowing his eyes were glittering underneath his reflecting red glasses.  

"What's all of this reclusive stuff you're pulling off over here?" he asked, giving her a returning smile.

"Scott, I'm merely saving my feet from those murderous shoes," Ororo responded, holding up one of the white sandals.  "If you had to wear these all day I'm sure your feet would have given in by now."

"I'm not called on to wear tiny sandals often, I'll give you that," Scott answered back, pulling on her hand.  "But you have yet to dance with the groom.  I'm feeling left out."

"Where did Jean head off to?" Ororo asked, putting the shoes back on with a grimace at Scott's request.

"Dancing with the best man," Scott said.  "I would cut in, but I figure I've got a ton of spins on the floor left on my dance card."

"I don't doubt it," Ororo laughed, letting Scott haul her out of her seat and lead her toward the patio turned dance floor, several couples already slow dancing around to the music that Ororo hardly recognized.

Ororo smiled at Scott through the pain shooting up and down her legs and let him guide them around the patio, drifting through the shifting dancers and talking all the while.  Scott, though, only had eyes for Jean, and when she floated past with his best friend she turned and smiled brightly.  

Ororo swayed next to Scott, falling into comfortable silence as she looked over his shoulder, lazily watching the figures rotate around them until she spotted a dark gaze staring back at her.  Ororo stared back this time, almost glaring back at Logan from Scott's shoulder until he turned them around, feeling helpless as she could almost feel his gaze traveling down her bare back.

The song ended softly, and Ororo gave way for Jean, who kissed her on the cheek before being swept off again with Scott, leaving Ororo to fend for herself as she made her way off the patio and back down to the grass, where she wasted no time taking off her shoes again.  

With the white sandals hooked on her index finger, she weaved her way away from the crowds, feeling hot and annoyed by the bothersome gaze.  He had stared at her like that through the entire ceremony, and through most of the reception except for the brief moment when she had escaped at the abandoned table.  Ororo was amazed she had kept her cool under such a condition, considering she was one more glance away from losing all composure.

Then she felt a hand close around her wrist, stopping her movement.

Too late, she thought.

She turned around and there he stood, his hand closed around her wrist and her shoes dangling from her hand.  The wind was picking up, bringing with it the smell of twilight as it ruffled up her hair, making her look as if she were floating.

"What is it, Logan?" Ororo sighed, expecting to hear some wiseass comment or a cutting remark.  Anything was better than standing under the scrutiny of his gaze for one more moment without speaking. 

"Why not just dump the shoes?" Logan asked, keeping his hand securely on her wrist has he pulled the lightweight but crippling sandals and tossed them in the general direction of one of the waste receptacles set up for the reception.

"Logan, I can't just throw away a pair of expensive…"

"Like hell you can't," came his reply as he pointed her, shoeless, away from the trashcan and even further from the crowds.  Ororo followed his lead without speaking, walking without protest as she found herself down to the path of maples, their red and yellow tips towering above them.  

"What are we doing, Logan?" she finally asked as they stopped, Logan leaning against the dark trunk of one of the maples.

"Wanted some damned peace and quiet," Logan muttered, finding a cigar and lighting it, puffing out milky gray smoke to rise up to the trees.  He glanced over at Ororo, who was staring at him as if he had gone insane.

"What?" Logan asked.  "You looked like you needed it, too."

"I just wanted to take off my shoes," Ororo pointed out.

"Your shoes are gone," Logan said, pointing to her bare feet under her pale blue dress.

Ororo sighed and began rubbing her forehead, feeling a headache approaching.  If she had just gone through one of the more busy days of her life she certainly didn't need Logan, no matter how appealing he looked in the dismantled suit Rogue had forced on him earlier, acting up to his usual standard.  There was only so much she could take, and this, unfortunately, was nearing her breaking point.

Then he did it.  As she turned away to stare up at the trees in mild annoyance, she caught his eyes wandering back toward her, stumbling through her hair and smoothing out on her neck, then falling down the slippery contours of the dress.  

"Must you always do that?" Ororo asked quietly, surprising him.

"I guess I don't," he answered back seriously, putting the cigar to his mouth and inhaling deeply, letting out another cloud of thick smoke from his lips.  

"You guess?" Ororo asked, amused but equally frustrated.  "What are you doing?"

"I look at what I want," Logan said simply, looking down at the cigar that he held in his hand. 

Ororo stared at him, unsure if she should even believe a word.  "No, you don't," she said softly.  "Since when do you just look?"

Logan chuckled and took another long sip from the cigar before turning and putting it out half-heartedly against the stonewall behind the line of trees.  The music had started up again, drifting toward them on the breeze that shook the leaves in the trees, dropping more amber down to the ground.  

Ororo's eyes followed Logan as he moved up to her and wrapped an arm around her waist, ignoring her slight protest.  

"Logan," Ororo started, panicking when she felt him up next to her, her heart beating wildly in her chest as she was suddenly pressed close to him.

"This is nothing, 'Ro," he said into her hair.  "Just calm down."

Then she found that they were dancing.  She couldn't see his face, so she clutched to his shoulders, bowing her head to hide her rapid breath.

He could hear it all, the pounding of her heart through her chest, and her breathing coming in raspy gasps as though she were dying.  She touched her forehead to his shoulder and he continued to shift slightly over the grass underneath the falling red leaves to the music that rose and fell from the house.  

He had been watching her far longer than she knew.  Since she had first seen her walk down the stairs he had kept an eye on her, nearly stumbling over himself when he saw her beauty radiating out through the crowds.  He had watched through the ceremony, and through the reception, feeling moderate amounts of jealousy shooting through him when he saw her dancing over the patio with other men.  He had just wanted to walk up to her and grab her, cutting in with a growl that wouldn't be protested, but somehow he knew that wouldn't go over well with her.  Somehow he had learned what would and what would not be accepted by Ororo since he had come back to New York, and now he had decided to put that knowledge to work.

Ororo's breath fell suddenly, coming in shallow gasps as his hand ran up her bare back, tracing up her spine that had looked so inviting from afar.  Now it was here pressed up to Logan, and there was no way he was going to ignore it.

Her feet grazed over the grass, stepping over the smooth folds of fallen leaves.  Everything felt as though it had settled into place, and Ororo found her hands wandering up into his coarse hair.  

"We should get out of here," he offered, just as the song was nearing its end.

"Where would we go?" Ororo laughed, lifting her forehead from his shoulder to stare into his dark eyes.

"Anywhere," he responded to the end of the music.

Ororo glanced up at him and then back at the wedding, seeing that the reception was already beginning to come to its close.  Jean was surrounded in people giving her their best wishes.  She wasn't needed here, that much Ororo knew well.

"I'll need to change," Ororo said, almost breathless at the opportunity.  

"Go," Logan said, letting go of her waist.  "I'll wait."

Ororo nodded and turned around without looking, frazzled and confused, but beyond all else she was soaring.  The ran back up to the mansion taking a few glances back to see Logan standing stationary, watching her glow.

When she reached the French doors her hand hit the bronze knob like it had done so many times before, and on instinct she felt the need to turn and look, finding him gone.  But this time all she could do was smile.

*

Was I gone long enough this time?  ;) 


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